


Hello

by JJClark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A mixture of book and show, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya is Winterfell's Medical Examiner, F/M, Gendry is Winterfell's Sheriff, Magic always comes with a price, Mild Language, Murder Mystery, Reincarnation, Romance, Soulmates, Specific Triggers will be mentioned in notes before chapter, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJClark/pseuds/JJClark
Summary: What would you do for the one you love?What would you do for yoursoulmate?Gendry is gifted a magical object that shows him his heart's desire. What he doesn't expect to see is Arya Stark. The witch warned him his gift could become a curse, but he doesn’t understand the price of magic until it’s too late.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 49
Kudos: 66





	1. At The Beginning With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is another one of my re-posted projects that I will be editing and updating along with Wolf Hunt. 
> 
> We will be exploring a lot of heavy subjects that would have taken up a lot of space in the tags. It varies between lifetimes which is why I opted to place **(TW)** at the beginning of each chapter if there are any. However, I want to be upfront about some things because I do not want to cause distress for anyone down the road. I know how upsetting it is to be invested in a story and then get a slap in the face with topics or themes that are triggering.
> 
> As a precaution, some of the reoccurring themes within this fic will be **_mentions_ of domestic abuse, torture, sexual assault, and suicide**. They are not taken lightly in the least bit and I do _**not**_ go into detail about how they transpire with the characters. Again, I will add any **Trigger Warnings** to the beginning of the chapter to prepare you for what is coming. I do not want to take you by surprise. 
> 
> If you have any doubts about this story, please do not go any further.
> 
> Still here? 
> 
> I do want to promise that the story has a happy ending. There will be comedy, fluff, and all that good soft romance stuff we really want to enjoy in a soulmates au. This will be an adventure as we watch our favorite couple find and love each other throughout time. 
> 
> Comments and kudos will be welcomed and cherished. Please, let me know what you think. Don't be shy, I do not bite!

"A gift, for your kindness, young man."

The hobbled old hag held out a frail skeletal hand to Gendry. He peered cautiously into her palm, unsure if he should be distracted by this gesture of gratitude. Generosity was the precedent to a favor or command he would not enjoy. Despite her age and physical disability, she presented the item with a steady hand. Every so slowly, his blue eyes lowered to the gem flat against the crone's hand. Opal in nature, at first glance, he studied the stone from a distance should she decide to gut him. It made little sense for someone in her position to gift a base-born bastard something precious and expensive. Gendry felt her heated gaze on him and forcibly pulled himself away from the sight of the gem.

True to his instinct, she stared intently at the threaded patch upon his cloak. The flaming heart sigil was the work of one Heddle sisters, though he never asked which one. He followed a bony finger as it briefly hovered over the patch, and when her eyes lifted to Gendry's, he swore he saw a flick of light in them. The old hag dropped her hand and presented the opal once more. "A gift," she gestured for him to take the item. "You are a follower of R'hllor, are you not? Do you dare reject a gift from the Lord of Light?"

The blacksmith was no stranger to the god's power and the abilities he bestowed on few followers. One such gift of life now lay dormant in the corpse of Lady Stark. A gruesome and cruel half-life, one that saw only vengeance. Not that he blamed her. Once, as a young man, he believed in what the Brotherhood stood for and watched as it all faded away with Beric's sacrifice. To hells with the high-borns and damn them all for the justice none would receive. His eyes drifted to the opal. What gift could the Lord of Light give him that Lady Stoneheart couldn't? 

"What is this, witch?" Gendry was aware he tested the patience of some otherworldly creature. He witnessed the punishment for anyone who crossed House Stark's revenant. 

"Clear your mind. Open your heart," she instructed. "See your heart's desire." 

Her words washed over him with an intoxicating warmth, followed by a strong pull to the palm of her hand. Featherlight whispers surrounded them, teasing the shell of his ear with untold promises should he choose to possess the gem. The pads of his fingers danced along the smooth surface of the opal, his heart full. A pair of familiar grey eyes crinkled in laughter, and she was close enough to touch. Closer than she had ever been in the years since they separated. All of him recognized all of her, no matter the physical form they took. 

Gendry sighed and released the tension from his shoulders, the sensation of being whole sealing the hollowed cracks she left behind. He curled his fingers around the gem and welcomed the vivid flashes behind his eyelids. The whispered warnings no longer audible in the presence of tangled limbs and contented hums between lovers. He could have stayed there forever and entered the afterlife a happy man. 

The crone, however, chose to rip him from the vision, thrusting the knight back into the cold, dark, world he'd come to know. She wrapped both hands around his fist, more ethereal in appearance than earlier. Gendry blinked, taken aback by the sight of her youthful complexion and the glow of her amber eyes. Flames swayed in their reflection, burning him at his core. Only then did he process the woman in his mind's eye. 

"No," he seethed through clench teeth. "No, that's not-no. The gods, R'hllor, cannot be that sinister. Not her. Never her. It's impossible." Gendry choked on the air he meant to inhale, torn by the thought that, even if he did see her again in this lifetime, they could never be. He vehemently shook his head and attempted to pull himself free. 

"You will see her again before The Long Night, stag," the witch ignored his pleas. "Do not deny a gift from the gods." The strength behind her grip lessened. She smiled sincerely, _sympathetically,_ towards him. "Beware the magic of the stone for it holds the knowledge of the universe. What was and what will be. Use it unwisely and your gift becomes a curse." 

* * *

The first time he used the gem, Gendry believed it a dream. He told himself he'd fallen asleep on his watch in the woods. The vision was so graphic, though, which brought doubt to his conclusion. His usual warmth disappeared as the flames of the campfire transitioned into the harsh winters of the North. They were slightly older than they were at present, head to toe in thick furs. A bow hung from her shoulder, along with several newly acquired hares. Red splotches framed her face from the low temperatures. Beautiful, wild, and free. Her laughter came out in thick clouds of air, and he caught himself smiling like an idiot. She must have felt his gaze on her because when she looked up, their eyes locked, and Gendry's world clicked into place. 

A storm during the true winter separated them from the tribe during a scavenger hunt months later. They took shelter in a cave, neither particularly caring since they had each other. That night, they put their flesh to good use. Initially, Gendry was ashamed for the dishonorable fantasy about Arya despite what his past-self felt. It was much easier to focus on the guilt than the heavy, complicated, feelings he felt for her in those visions. 

The second vision came to him at the inn the Brotherhood claimed as their own. Gendry learned from his past mistake and ensured no one could stumble upon a sight like that first night. When he saw Arya next, they were someplace much warmer than the North. He stood with an army behind him and the people of the area in front of him. She was naked and bound in chains, presented to him as a sacrificial lamb. They had betrayed their queen to save themselves from a dragon's ire. Though she held her chin in defiance, he sensed their treachery left its mark on her heart. He cloaked her, shielding her from any more humiliation, and released the chains. In atonement, he swore to keep her house words: _Ours is the Fury._

Some lifetimes were worse than others. He witnessed their reunions and their tragedies. It was all a matter of circumstances, whether they lived happily together or torn apart. Gendry experienced the loss of his soulmate more than he cared to remember. Could the good outweigh all the bad? 

Despite it all, she was there. By his side. Always.

She was his, and he was hers.

* * *

Over the years, Gendry's curiosity about their current life trumped the cautionary tale of misuse. The witch told him they would meet again before The Long Night, but his insecurities made the blacksmith distrustful. He needed to know Arya was alive and well. He needed to know that their paths would cross soon. Each time he used the stone for that exact purpose, it sent him back to the beginning. Instead of an older version of his soulmate, the boy, Arry, in King's Landing, greeted him. Gendry relived every moment of their time together, heartbroken by the events which led to their separation. If he had known then what he does now, he would have held her longer. She was a frightened little girl, and he wished several times he'd been brave enough to comfort her the way she needed. 

Even with their combined history together, Gendry understood that he did not feel for _this Arya_ in the same way. They were children, then, and strangers as adults. Neither of them ready for anything more than what they shared on the King's Road. Still, the bond between them was something he cherished. The grief from losing her to the Hound the way he did was just as difficult to bear. If the witch hadn't come along when she did, Gendry sensed he would have rotted away much like her lady-mother; a half-life stuck between a crossroads. 

_I can be your family._

Arya's tearful declaration followed him like a ghost with or without the stone's magic. _Yes, you can by my family_ , he confessed to her image. _You will be my family, I swear it._

* * *

_"Leave him be."_

Gendry froze in place at the sound of her voice. He thought for certain that he'd used the gem to transport him out of Winterfell's forge and miss out on the Hound bitching at him. His eyes skirted around the larger man to the lithe figure on the other side. Drawn in by her presence, he blocked out the conversation that followed between Arya and the Hound. His eyes traced every line, every curve, noting the changes. _All of him recognized all of her._

She was alive, and she was _here_ with _him_. Now that she physically stood in front of him, a woman-grown, Gendry wasn't capable of a single word. The weight of his grief and happiness simultaneously rooted him to the forge's floor. Overwhelmed by the possibility of finally speaking to her made it difficult to choose where to begin. It was the end of the world, for them at least, and Gendry hadn't a clue how to proceed. None of which kept him from staring at her like a man without water or food. Desperate for what only she could give him. 

"That was a nice ax you made for him." Oh. She was speaking to him. Gendry blinked. "You've gotten better."

"Yeah, thanks. So have you." The words tumbled out of his mouth like the stupid bull she always claimed him to be. He couldn't get over the fact that they were together again. "I mean, you look...good."

And she did. 

Gendry struggled to recollect his thoughts and remember this lifetime. Their childhood, how they met, and all the events that transpired. Arya would, no doubt, think him insane should he spout off about memories she had no recollection of. Awkwardly, he turned away from her and moved back to his workbench. "Not a bad place to grow up if it wasn't so cold."

"Stay close to that forge, then," she countered and, gods, he loved her sass. The blacksmith found himself smiling, waiting for her to prove that she was still the girl he met on the road. Had she still the iron underneath? He fought every instinct to pull her close and claim her lips. That wasn't fair to her, and he had no clue what her life had been like since they separated. Gendry needed to take things slow and learn about the woman she became. 

"Oh? Is that a command, Lady Stark?"

"Don't call me that." 

Ah, there she was, _his_ Arya. It hurt initially that when she looked at him, she looked right through him. The wall she built to protect herself would take time, the time they didn't have. Gendry was aware that the world continued after The Long Night, he just didn't have the insight to tell if they would survive. What was the point of this life, when they experienced nothing but near-misses? All the knowledge of the universe and he could do nothing with it.

"As you wish, m'lady." _I love you_ , he told her silently. They may not have their current life to live, but others were promised. Gendry would wait, as he always did until she was ready. 

* * *

Gendry toyed with the smooth opal at the bottom of his uniform slacks. The stone's magic no longer responded the way it did in the past. He concluded it had something to do with his last death thirty years ago. Somehow, the magic transferred from the stone in the moments before the plane crashed. When they recovered the bodies, the opal was gone. Not that it mattered much since it always turned up in the next life. However, their current incarnation was a far cry from the visions the stone promised. This time, he had come back different, _changed_. 

Instead of the stored knowledge at the tip of his fingers, summoned only by his command, they imprinted onto him. That complicated things a lot earlier in his life than originally intended. Gendry knew nothing of the person he was supposed to be at present, the ability to recall centuries worth of experience molding his new personality all into one. He attempted to put the memories back, make room for this new life, but failed on several occasions. Whoever this guy was would have to take a backseat, because Arya Stark was home again. 

The sheriff discarded the milky opal and stepped into the morgue. His soulmate stood over the body of a recent murder victim, in the earlier stages of an autopsy. Gendry's eyes took the opportunity to let his eyes wander over her form, unsurprised by how his body always reacted to the sight of her. 

" _Hello_ ," he greeted her from the edge of the large room. The traditional _m'lady_ silently tact on for his benefit. She wouldn't get the reference anyway, not yet. 


	2. Magic Comes With A Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Arya Stark recently returned to Winterfell when a position opened at the medical examiner's office. She is in for a rude awakening on her first day of the job. Childhood bully, Jeyne Poole, is the victim of domestic violence and murdered the night she meant to escape. 
> 
> In the past, the living prepare for the Long Night. Gendry wants nothing more than to spend as much time with his soulmate before the horns sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fiddled around with ages and dates. During the Long Night, Arya is somewhere between 17-18, and Gendry is probably somewhere between 22-23 (about Jon's age give or take).

**WINTERFELL - 306AC**

On the eve of battle, the bastard blacksmith located his she-wolf in one of the storage rooms. Wrapped in shadow, he watched with great admiration and a sliver of guilt. As a woman of her status, Arya never should have lived as a lowborn on the run. Only once on the road, he recalled, a lady had treated her as such. Everyone else viewed her as a pawn or a reward, an object to possess and do as they pleased. No one saw her as a potential leader, a warrior, or whatever she wanted to be. She was a survivor, both hardened by war and fragile from its effect. His she-wolf put on a convincing mask for the world to see, but he was well acquainted with the sound of her broken heart. 

The arrow hit its target with precision, and when Arya sought him in the dark, her eyes pierced him as thoroughly as the arrowhead. Fully alert, thanks to her attention, Gendry stepped forward. It was foolish of him to believe he could hide from her. The last few days blatantly proved there was nowhere he could go that she wouldn't find him. They were in constant rotation of one another, playing a game of tug-of-war. He couldn't deny the magnetism, the urge to close the distance in any way possible, if he tried. 

Focused on the way she moved with a weapon in her hand, Gendry nearly missed the familiar glint in her eyes. As children, he became all-too-aware when his friend determined to do something. Often enough, it was dangerous or went against the norm; nevertheless, she got her way. He steeled himself for whatever quest she commanded next; however, no preparation would ever cushion the blow of her latest request. 

"I ought to know what it's like before that happens," Arya's voice held steady despite the quiver in her breath. It was cold, but it wasn't that damn cold for a she-wolf. Usually, there was a prerequisite for this type of situation between two people. Past decisions needed explanations, declarations needed to be made. Yet, the stupid bull was at a loss for words. He continued to stare until his brain caught up to him. Gendry made the mistake of glancing at her lips first, thinking of how they'd finally taste. He made it as far as her name. 

"Arya-" 

She lunged at him, likely fearful of what he meant to say. Did she assume he would reject her? An honorable man would have declined respectfully. An intelligent man, one who kept in mind their social class, would have scattered. But if this truly was their last night, Gendry didn't give a damn about being honorable or smart. Fuck the highborns and their bullshit rules. 

Arya's lips were hesitant as her breath heavied, and he needed no other reason than to offer himself up to his lady. Every vision, every fantasy, every inkling of a thought about how their lovemaking would turn out flashed before him. Their actions were frenzied at the beginning, unable to bear the thought that the horns would sound too soon. It wasn't until they laid together that Gendry slowed the process.

He regretted their separation in the Riverlands. The thought of her being alone all this time twisted in his gut. She knew pain, fear, and loss as he had; their lives consumed by all three for as long as they could remember. If they died in battle, then Gendry wanted their last memories to be soft and precious. He wanted them to cherish each other when the rest of the world refused. He wanted to give her everything she deserved, even at the end of the world. 

With the palms of his hands cupping Arya's face, he brought their lips together. "We have time," he whispered. Staring at her adoringly, the blacksmith brought her down to him on the sack of grain. There was too much to say, confessions too important to rush through. Instead of tainting the heavy moment, Gendry said everything he needed with the brush of his fingers and the trail of his kisses. "We have time," he murmured at her entrance, gazing up at her intently to keep her focused and calm. 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - PRESENT**

"You just going to stand there all day and stalking me from the shadows, Sheriff?" 

The brunette barely glanced behind her to acknowledge him. Her attention went back to the body, determined to remain professional despite this being their official reunion. Eight years, even with the visits, was too long for Gendry. It was still difficult for him after all these centuries when he knew the happiness that awaited him starring a grey-eyed woman. His flesh was left unmarked without his mate to claim him, and that ego he'd obtained over the lifetimes needed a good puncture. _But she was here now_ , Gendry's mind exclaimed. 

The opportunity to move home and settle back down came a week ago. Their longtime medical examiner, Doctor Luwin, announced his retirement a month ago and chose to stay long enough to get his replacement hired. In normal circumstances, the county had to elect an official to take the position at the local morgue; however, given Arya's education and history in Winterfell, she was a perfect choice. Gendry may have been biased when he persuaded the other officials to sign-off on the new hire.

Doctor Luwin finished his shift this afternoon when he delivered the recent victim, Jeyne Poole, to the morgue. What a way to welcome Arya back home. There was no love lost between both women, but death was always a touchy subject for his wolf, no matter the life she led. He watched from the furthest side of the hospital's basement as she delicately handled the body. Her observations were respectful, and while she appeared to show no emotion, Gendry could sense more brewing underneath the surface. 

Death was a mercy, Arya told long ago; however, there was something about the nature of violently making a person suffer that crawled under her skin. Her time at the House of Black and White in a past life stuck with her throughout each incarnation. She may hold no memory, but certain experiences became a part of a person's soul. They carried these lessons with them into the next life. At least, that's how Gendry saw it. Sure as hell explained his aversion to corpses in the present. 

"Cheeky," he responded and circled the room. He would give anything to stand beside her as she worked. Arya always seemed to radiate his special brand of warmth. Unfortunately, since battling the dead during the Long Night, he was apprehensive about getting anywhere near a body unless necessary.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly as he leaned against one of the back counters. His hesitation must've been easy to read for her because she chuckled, then went back to work. "You've never told me what's your deal with the dead." Yeah, he had all the knowledge in the world, but she cracked him open and read him like a book. "How in the seven hells did you become sheriff with your sensitivity to homicide?"

"Winterfell's rates for murder are at an all-time low, thank you. Run a tight ship, and that shit doesn't happen too much around here." Gendry waited until she wasn't looking at him to eye the body carefully. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Is the bastard in custody?" Her voice lowered despite the lighter mood he tried to set. Of course, he should have known better. Arya's dedication to her work, and more so to the victims of violent crimes. As much as she wanted to fall back into their casual routine, her code of conduct won out. It didn't stop him from wincing at the use of the word bastard. In this day and era, the term meant something completely different from when he was a king's bastard. Though, he found it ironic with the way she connected it to Jeyne's husband, Ramsay.

"Detained until tomorrow morning. Don't look at me like that," the sheriff held up a finger in defense against the murderous look she was giving him. "He's got a powerful family in the area. They're lawyering up, and we need something at the end of the 24 hours. You think you can give us something to nail him?" Gods, he wanted to go to her and wrap his arms around her shoulders. The injustice of it all dug into Arya, and he knew she'd do little else until she gave them something. It wasn't the best way to start the first day on the job. 

The sheriff stood straighter, avoiding eyeing the body behind her as she stared him down. Arya did not lash out or scream, simply stewed in anger with a scalpel clenched in one hand. The metal reflected the overhead light, and his eyes drifted ever so slowly down her form. They stopped at the sharp object in her possession, recalling a lot of things she could do with something like that. Arousal flooded his system. 

A murdered woman needed justice, and the culprit behind bars, yet all Gendry thought about was how he missed seeing his soulmate wield a weapon. Perhaps, he should revisit a forge in this lifetime. If anything, just to see her appreciate the craftmanship. Fuck, he'd done it now. A slow of memories kept him thoroughly entertained until the good doctor brought him back to reality.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm? Um, no reason. I'm just curious why you're getting pissed about this. You're good at what you do, Stark. If anyone can find a shred of evidence to help convict this arsehole, it's you." His voice strained as he bullshitted his way through that awkward moment. As per his ego, he clapped his hands together and began to walk away. "Chop, chop. I want your report on my desk before dinner."

"Bossy," she mused. "Hey, if I'm working through my lunch to get this done, you owe me dinner.

Gendry pivoted with a dramatic sigh as if her request was a burden. Though, the twinkle in his eye and the corner of his lip said otherwise. "Bring the report with you. We'll discuss the findings. Hot Pie's, seven. Don't be late." 

"I'll be the one in black."

"Dressed to kill."

"Get out of here, already."

He smirked, bowing with the theatrics of a stage performer. 

* * *

Jeyne hadn't died with dignity. 

Arya cross-referenced the crime scene photos on her computer with the report she wrote up an hour ago. She didn't like the fact she hadn't been on the scene to get a feel for it. There was a detachment between the two that was mended only by being there in person. If Gendry was half as good as people claimed, he'd fill her in, and they could bounce theories back and forth. Though, it seemed like a cut and dry crime. They had the body, the evidence, and the murderer. She did not envy any of them once this thing hit the court. According to the information they let her borrow, the victim ~~\--~~ _Jeyne_ ~~\--~~ was headed out of town when she got a flat tire. Nothing was stolen from her person or vehicle. The second set of tire tracks indicated someone pulled up behind her, and with no sign of struggle, it was assumed she knew her attacker. It was undetermined what happened between the second person arriving and her murder.

Gendry texted a quarter till their scheduled dinner to remind her to get her arse in gear. She smirked as she read the message and set up a series of prints from the autopsy to be made. It didn't occur to Arya until then that they couldn't exactly discuss the case at full in a public setting. With how popular Hot Pie's diner was, she didn't think they'd even be able to pull out the photos. She finished washing her hands and adjusting her hair, wondering why Gendry had invited her to dinner if they couldn't get straight to work. The medical examiner collected the photos from the printer and placed them in numerical order, the last being of the victim's face. _Jeyne Poole_. Her name was Jeyne Poole. She wasn't just a victim or a patient. She had been a real, flesh-and-blood, person. She was thirty-five and a clerk for City Hall. In a common-law marriage with Ramsay Bolton; abusive high school sweetheart. He didn't even respect her enough to give her his name.

Arya's therapist would tell her it was unhealthy to be this close to a case. The same would be said by her teachers and mentors. When you worked in a medical career, it was one thing to be personable to gain a strong rapport, but an entirely complicated thing to get too close. People were, after all, human. _Valar morghulis_. All men must die. In the past, it had been her job to keep someone alive or make their passing as painless as possible. Arya loved what she did and, at one point, felt like it was her calling. _Valar dohaeris_. All men must serve. And served she did. People from all walks of life entered the hospital and it was her duty to treat them without favor or prejudices. At least, that's what she believed until a few months ago. By switching, Arya thought it would help her cope with the inevitable. When her patients arrived, they were long dead, and nothing would bring them back. Her job was to respect what was left behind and bring peace of mind to the living.

Who knew the first day on the job, she'd have to perform an autopsy on a former childhood bully?

The young woman now lay with a plain white shroud over her body in a marked storage freezer. Once they had all they needed, Arya could send in for a transfer to the local funeral home. She didn't want to keep Jeyne from her family longer than a week; however, this was her first homicide, and the medical examiner wasn't aware of how long these things usually take. She thought of her sister, Sansa, and the very real possibility that it could have been her. The awful thought made Arya sick to her stomach.

Her train of thought moved forward as she thought of her own scenario of picking up and starting over. How would she have done it if she were escaping a monster? There were the electronic tracks she'd have to erase. Enough cash so she wouldn't have to sleep under a bridge or beg for food. What would she have had to do to survive without her family's support? It left her asking more questions about what the hell Jeyne had been mixed up in.

  
After collecting several manilla folders and stuffing them in her leather bag, the medical examiner locked up and left for her standing dinner date. Arya snorted at the notion of being on a date with her brothers' best friend, the sheriff of Winterfell. Caught up in alternative ulterior motives for tonight's request, she'd missed the tall figure rounding the corner. They collided and Arya reached out to grab hold of a sturdier object but braced herself for the fall. She waited for the air to leave her lungs or the sharp pain to the back of her skull, and when neither came, her eyes fluttered open.

Instead of the bright fluorescent lights, she met with the most gorgeous pair of violet coloring. The odd colored eyes went wide with fright and then narrowed into amused slits. Arya tightened her grip on whatever it was that kept her afloat only to discover it was the owner of the violet eyes. It dawned on her that they were frozen in an embrace in the basement of the hospital. She swallowed hard and righted herself, wiping away any imaginary wrinkles or dust from her outfit.

Arya went to apologize when her phone's alarm reminded her how late she was to dinner. "Oh!" She scrambled to grab her things from the floor and ushered a quick " _sorry!_ " as she ran towards the garage.

* * *

Hot Pie's belong to a friend who'd taken over ownership and changed the name of the local diner after his stint in culinary school. Even before the formal education, Hot Pie had been the best damn cook in the area. He often had people from the bigger cities wondering what the hell he was doing running a simple place when he could have a five-star restaurant. He'd laugh them off and let them know it was the local life through-and-through. Though, it did rack up his popularity when some big money came sniffing around him. Winterfell wasn't about to give up their best commodity to anyone else.

The diner's building was the epitome of a small-city cliche. Between the bright pink paint to the checkered tiles, Hot Pie's completed the 1950s ensemble. The air itself was warm and sticky from decades worth of greasy foods and the sweetest milkshakes. Arya made it her first and last stop each visit to Winterfell with either her family or friends. She checked her reflection in the window briefly before swinging the glass door wide open and entering. The brunette wasn't a vain person, and she often chose comfort over fashion. Besides, why wear a paycheck's worth of clothes with the possibility of bodily fluids?

Black was her color of choice while at work unless she needed scrubs. Since no one knew there'd be a murder, Arya chose a pair of slacks and a light blouse. She decided last minute to take her hair out of the clip that held it back during the autopsy and ran her fingers through her long locks. When she did enter the diner, a rush of air came in with her and attracted attention. Some glanced up to greet her, and others were indifferent about her appearance. She spotted Gendry in their usual booth, and he had the best smile just for her. Arya couldn't help to smile back as she hurried along.

A strong pair of arms lifted her from behind, soon followed by Hot Pie's bellowing laughter. "Put me down you big troll!" As soon as he did, Arya swung around to smack him in the arm. Gendry's eyes twinkled at the sight. He stood from the booth and greeted her with a hug. When her feet left the ground for a second time, Arya let out an annoyed huff. Not that she could stay mad at the sheriff for long when he ended the hug with a kiss to her forehead.

"Been waiting to do that all day," he let her go, then took the leather bag from her shoulder. "Welcome home, Arya," Gendry smiled. Hot Pie gestured for them to sit down, both choosing to sit opposite of one another as they'd done since teenagers. The sheriff didn't look twice at her bag, nor did he make any further comment about the case. Arya chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. "I thought about pre-ordering your favorite, but wasn't sure what your appetite would allow." 

"Chamomile tea," she ordered from Hot Pie. His instincts were on point when it came to her appetite. Mostly, she just needed a moment to decompress. She touched the strands of her brown hair out of habit, then glanced at her hands. When Arya glanced up to request her sanitizer, grey eyes instinctively found Gendry's gorgeous blues. She never determined if they appeared more sky or sea blue. At times, he reminded her of the steady waves on a humid southern day. Other times, they were as deep and endless as the blue during sunset. Either way, it was a crime anyone was allowed to have those eyes with those lashes, and that damn crooked grin. 

The doctor was suddenly aware neither had spoken a word since they sat down. He looked eager as ever to tell her a world of stories with little restraint holding him back. Gendry wasn't one to overwhelm her, allowing her the chance to breathe. Somehow, once she'd given it enough thought, he had always held himself back. The ball was always in her court, figuratively speaking. Arya appreciated it nonetheless, especially with how her siblings could be when she visited. 

"Is that blush for me, or did Hot Pie finally do it for you?" The corners of his lips twitched in jest as he took a drink from his beer bottle. 

"It is not a blush, stupid," she scoffed. "I'm _flushed_ from running."

"Didn't want to be late for our date?"

"No," her lips said. _Yes_ , an inner voice corrected. "And if this is how you lure unsuspecting women on dates, then I'm unimpressed, Baratheon." Hot Pie sat down her teacup. A saucer with honey and lemon sat next to it. She smiled up at him in thanks. "I'll need a minute to catch my breath if you don't mind." Their friend left them to it.

"Heard you had a fan club this morning on the scene," Arya continued as she balanced out the honey and lemon mixture. Gendry watched her with mild fascination until her words sunk in, and he scowled. She grinned. "Any new developments on the future Mrs. Gendry Baratheon?"

"That's not even remotely funny. I almost didn't respond to Pod's 112." The sheriff had the unfortunate displeasure of being among the top eligible bachelors in Winterfell since he graduated. "I had to tell old lady Nan that I was having a wild affair with you, so I didn't end up trapped in another basement."

"Am I any good?" Arya raised a perfectly arched brow as she tested the temperature of her tea.

"The best I've ever had," he said soberly.

She noticed he had that look again. The intense glint in his eyes that made her believe he was waiting for something from her. Gendry never demanded, and he never took what she didn't freely give, but that look. It made her pity him in a way she didn't understand. Arya imagined herself cupping his face and gently telling him that it would all be okay. "Good to know," she joked and broke the moment.

Hot Pie returned shortly after, and they ordered their meals. While they waited, the couple caught up on the latest gossip. It was too easy to fall into a casual and comfortable conversation with Gendry. Sure, he was her brothers' best friend, but she felt like they had a stronger connection. She'd reel herself back in when her mind wandered too close to that type of commitment, though. She wasn't Sansa or, hell, Robb, for that matter. People didn't flock to her the way they did them, and she sure wasn't about to jump head-first after a handful of flirtatious remarks.

Time did not exist for the couple, safely guarded in their own personal bubble. They hopped from one topic to another, gossiping and laughing uncontrollably, unaware of the world moving on without them. Hot Pie must have sent them food and drink because a plate of onion rings and chicken wings would appear out of nowhere. Seamlessly as everything appeared, the dirty dishes vanished, and the table wiped down. Gendry sighed after a while, then grabbed her leather bag from his side. "Now that we're properly fed, I'd like to get your thoughts on our victim. Give me the goods, Stark."

_Ah_ , a brush of disappointment swept across the doctor. He worked her hard on her first day of the job and felt guilty. It made more sense than some blooming crush now that they were adults. She glanced around at the sight of the folder she put together at the morgue, brows knitted together in confusion. The diner was empty aside from staff, the lights dimmed, and the scent of cleaner in the air. Arya flipped over her phone and took in the time. 

Four hours had passed since her arrival. She checked the clock behind the bar, and, sure enough, it was the correct time. Where had it all gone? The brunette reached over to still the sheriff's hand. He immediately froze upon contact, staring up at her with a blaring question mark across his face. "It's late," she announced. 

When Gendry looked about as confused as she felt, Arya pointed to both her phone and the clock. His face dropped almost comically as he attempted to account for their missing time. She smiled at him sympathetically, squeezing his hand. "Why don't we start bright and early in the morning with a fresh pair of eyes?"

He gazed beyond her, likely at the diner owner dozing off at the counter. They packed up their belongings and silently argued about who'd pay the bill with threatening gestures and expression. Eventually, Gendry won out with the compromise that she got the next ticket. Tonight was more of a welcome home event, or so he tried to claim to win the argument. He ventured towards the counter as she collected the rest of her things, meeting them at the exit. 

Gendry opened the door, placing the palm of his hand on the small of her back to usher her out. The contact alone sent a thrilling shiver down her spine, thankful for the harsh winter air as Hot Pie locked up behind them. "Let's go home and get some rest, then," he said after they bid farewell to their friend. His hand remained in place, the only source of heat other than her own. 

_Home._ Arya hadn't thought about that yet, hesitant to mention her reluctance to return to the manor. She knew any number of friends would offer up their place, but the Stark felt foolish about the whole thing. It was her _home,_ and her siblings were all there. Well, most of them, at least. The size of the manor easily fit them all with space to spare. What insane person declined the offer of staying rent-free in this economy? 

She took her bag from Gendry's shoulder and headed for her car in the deserted parking lot. When she didn't hear the second pair of footsteps, Arya stopped digging for her keys and turned around. He stood there the same odd look from earlier when he realized the time. "What?" 

"Where are you going?"

"Home. My car's this way."

"We can pick it up in the morning. It's safe here."

"Gendry, that's ridiculous. You gonna pick me up at Stark Manor and get us both to work on time?"

The sheriff gazed down at his boots for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts. "You're right, sorry, must be more tired than I realize." He didn't sound convinced, and Arya couldn't make heads or tails of his reaction. 

"What kind of girl do you take me for, Sheriff?" His head shot up and she raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. She wanted to lighten the mood so they could leave their reunion night on a good note. Besides, there was no one she was leaving until he gave her his famous crooked grin that made most people swoon. "One date and I'm supposed to fall into bed with you?" 

Flabbergasted felt like too fancy of a word to describe the look on his stupid face. He was about to deny something right before his features smoothed, and he rolled his eyes at her. "If I wanted you in my bed, Stark, you'd be there." 

The sentence alone could have been the straw that broke the camel's back. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a clear head. No, she wasn't that type of girl, but she could be for him. Over the years, she wracked up quite a number of fantasies based on curiosity alone. Still, best not scratch that itch until they weren't both sound of mind. Now that the overconfident Gendry Baratheon she knew was well intact, Arya thought it might be a good idea to move along home. Whatever it was between them would have to wait. The thought alone made her stomach flutter just as much as the hand on her back had done. Ridiculous, she thought, behaving like some teenager again. 

Arya huffed out a laugh but did not make a point to reject the offer, if there ever was one. Gendry closed the distance between them, walking beside her until they made it to her vehicle. Their good night hug was meant to be quick, but she found they both lingered in each other's arms longer than necessary. He slid away from her just enough to keep a hold, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. The warmth of his lips made her close her eyes, squeezing his upper arms in appreciation at the gesture. When he finally pulled away, Gendry ran a gloved thumb over the spot. "One for the road. You know, for appearance sake."

"Can't let the masses know we're faking it. Don't know what Winterfell would do if their sheriff ended up in another basement." 

Gendry scowled, and she laughed harder. She planted a playful kiss on his cheek before she could think better of it, then dipped out of his embrace. "Go," she shooed him away and got into her car.

"Text me when you make it home," he countered an order. Arya waved him off, but he hung back with an authoritative stare. "Text me when you make it home, Arry, or I'll make a scene. Lights and sirens and all."

"Bossy _and_ you abuse your power. Tsk, tsk, Sheriff."

"You like it."

Arya made an appreciative hum, one she knew he was highly aware of. Two could play that game and part of her wanted him to be just as wound up as she after tonight. "I do," she closed the door and waved through the foggy window. "Night Baratheon." 

* * *

_Winter Is Coming_ , he mused behind the wheel of the patrol truck with large snowflakes dropping and melting onto his windshield. The north got its fair share of false winters throughout the year. If not for the restoration of The Wall, which provided a barrier between them and the arctic tundra, they would live in a perpetual winter state. The Citadel, no doubt, had a message declaring the change of season on its way. He shivered, despite the blast of heat hitting him.

Gendry pondered the mistake he made tonight in the empty parking lot of the diner. He slipped up and almost took Arya home with him without a second thought; all, but took the choice right out of her hands. Fortunately, both were able to recover and smooth things out before they got carried away. It was too easy to pick up where they left off a lifetime ago for him; too easy, for Gendry, to take advantage of her blissful ignorance. His soulmate didn’t deserve that, _his best friend_ , didn’t deserve that. 

The screen on his console switched and let him know of an incoming call. “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd echoed throughout the vehicle, the ringtone chosen for the person on the other end. The sheriff let it play for a minute longer, humming the lyrics. Right before it could go to voicemail, Gendry accepts the call. “I haven’t even made it out of the lot yet,” he barely got out. 

“So, it’s true?”

“Aye, it’s true,” he smiled softly trying his best to conjure up a scowl. “Stupid question, but how did you hear about it?" 

"Went to check the mail. The postal guy who is currently sleeping with one waitress at Hot Pie’s said you two were together all evening,” the young man said overeagerly and with little breath in-between beats. “How did it go? Is she staying at the manor or do you think she’ll try to get her own place? We have some vacancies in my building." 

Gendry should have found the energy at the late hour annoying, but the mingle of panic and relief did nothing but want to soothe the caller. ” _Slow_ down,“ he gently ordered. "We’ve got time, Steffon.” The reassurance was all he could muster, feeling a similar electric burst of energy through his veins. The sheriff’s lips twitched. “She kissed me on the cheek when we said goodnight." 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - 306AC**

The Battle for the Dawn was over, and the light just beyond the horizon was a blessed sight. By some divine intervention or miracle, the living had won against the dead. No one marked the days and nights, lost in the haze of their traumatic experience. For Gendry, it was like living in a giant hourglass where the weight of time trickled down upon their head. The battles to come laid in the distance, leagues within the southern territories. Yet, none seemed in any hurry to reach those destinations, hesitant to make a move too soon. For now, they happily forced the battle behind them and rode the wave of hope for the future. 

He caught Arya's glance from her position at the high table during the feast. The smile he offered faded when he noticed something wrong written in the crinkle of her brows. She did not drink or socialize along with the rest. When she excused herself from the table, Gendry lept from his spot and worked his way through the crowd of people. As he passed in front of the high table, the blacksmith made the mistake of looking up and noticed the Targaryen queen staring at him. Her mouth opened, and for one painstakingly second, he swore she meant to call him out. However, an odd sense of awareness passed between the two. The opal around his neck warmed against his chest. Luckily, it was well hidden behind tunic and cloak, for fear that it might glow with its magic unknowingly.

The small hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood, and he swore Daenerys' features shifted to reflect someone else. Gendry recognized this one, and he began to get the feeling she felt similar. Her mouth closed slowly as her gaze swept towards the exit he meant to take. When the dragon queen looked back at him, the dread from earlier vanished. She subtly nodded, permitting him to take his leave. He thanked her with another nod. 

Gendry located his she-wolf in one of the storage rooms. He startled backward when an arrow punctured its target. Arya pulled the bowstring, rooted eerily into place. She stared beyond the target, stranded in an ocean of thought like at the feast. Her gaze, usually sharp and ever-observant, glazed in a haunting impression. 

"How long did we battle the dead?"

Concerned, the blacksmith eased his way into the narrow room, closer to the edge than the path of her next arrow. With a hand on her shoulder and the other on her wrist, he got her to lower the weapon. Something bubbled under the surface of his soulmate's stoic statue. He could tell she was barely holding it together. 

Arya Stark was, by no means, fragile; however, in this shared moment, she could have been glass. The damages to her character over the years had not broken her, though. He still saw the girl she fought tooth and nail to keep alive. Gendry did begin to suspect that the latest trauma from the dead might have been one crack too many. The tight line of his lips thinned further the longer he thought about it, the silence a deafening answer all its own. His she-wolf whirled around, dropping bow and arrow. 

"I don't think we won, Gendry," her voice shook with dawning horror. "This doesn't feel like a victory. Something's wrong. Something went wrong, and now everything is different." Her fingers brushed along her trembling lips, fearful of saying it aloud. The hysteria from deep inside slipped out with a choke, and he could do nothing else but wrap himself around her small form. 


	3. My Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winterfell timeline comes to a close as the survivors deal with the aftermath of the war.  
> In the present, Arya adjusts to being home for the first time in years and meets someone who has been dying to speak with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in an update as I've recently lost both grandparents within a short time. Honesty, I'm not sure how this chapter will be received due to the heavy themes. All of which are necessary for the plot, of course. Writing them simply gave me an outlet for everything. I did my best to edit, but I know there will be mistakes. 
> 
> For those who need the **TW** , major character death(s), including animals, are present in this chapter. Their deaths are mentioned, but not written in detail, nor is there gore. 
> 
> You will also notice some familiar lines within the chapter, edited to fit the scenes. I think they're mostly from the show, if not the books. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Let me know what you thought. I will try to do my best to update more frequently. Thank you for everyone who has stayed patient and still reading.

**WINTERFELL - 306AC**

  
"Your Grace," Gendry bowed upon entering the Dragon Queen's temporary chambers. While unusual to converse with royalty in an intimate setting, the blacksmith suspected she summoned him to discuss the phenomenon at the feast. Dreams of a three-headed dragon and the conquering fires of a Westeros long-past foreshadowed their reunion days before standing alone in the same room. When the queen turned away from the window, the opal burned the flesh of his chest. Her features became vague and hazy, incarnation after incarnation falling away like a parchment pile left by a breezy window until he focused on the familiarity of one. 

He felt the heat of her violet eyes trace every line along his face, searching through the leaves of lifetimes, longing to find someone she once knew. Gendry caught the moment she did, a tiny intake of breath. They stood there for a fraction of a second like wooden posts before a false bright note colored her voice. "Hello, Orys."

The name alone sang to him like a siren's song on the ocean wind, stirring the fire that once raged through his veins—the fire from a dragon, a bastard dragon—someone who had a family and a purpose, someone who had lost it all. And she, a dragon queen with a mischievous glint in those same purple eyes who spent more time in the air than on the ground. He could hear that very ocean now, the violent winds thrusting the waves against the jagged cliffs and the smell of a storm that called him home. 

"Long time, Rhaenys," his lips twitched despite the way he choked on her name. Gendry uncovered the stone from under his tunic and cloak, the blonde's gaze locked in on it, instinctively touching the dragon broach on the right. He had a feeling she, too, had been gifted by the gods, but for how long? The uncertainty that clouded the room's atmosphere vanished as they approached each other in three long strides. Time itself collapsed in the space between them when their arms sought solace around one another. A shudder rippled through their bodies simultaneously. Daenerys' regal control fractured, and she burrowed in. "Welcome back, sister." 

He cradled the back of her head, the scented oils that clung to her soft white hair and skin reminded him of amber and cloves, possibly a hint of ash. Though, Winterfell as a whole held onto the smell of a stale fire after they burned the dead. Gendry was sure he smelled no better after being in the forge the majority of the time. If it bothered the queen, she did not show it. He ran a hand down the silky braids, careful not to let the callus of his skin catch or tug on her hair. 

"I never thought I would see any of you again," Daenerys resisted the pull when he tried to separate them. They held onto each other for a moment longer, basking in the blessing of their souls aligning perfectly into one lifetime. They didn't get to say goodbye last time, and the Dornish never returned her body for a proper funeral. The memory prompted Gendry to hold his sister closer. 

"Perhaps the gods could not afford to have the four of us altogether," he teased and was met with a pinch under his arm. The blacksmith hissed with laughter, parting enough to rest his forehead against hers. It was all the distance she would allow. 

"No, they are here," she touched the dragon broach once more, "I can feel them." Daenerys glanced up, smiling, and studied his new face with both hands and eyes now. He'd missed those curious, playful eyes. "I'm glad it's you here. It will make securing the Iron Throne easier. We will take back what is ours, create a safe place for them to come home." 

Gendry tensed, a shadow of doubt moving across his face like that of a storm cloud hovering above land just before the downpour. The queen immediately noticed the change, leaping behind the gates of her ice walls. He tried and failed to grasp her hands as they left his face, snapping back to her sides. "The last time we conquered Westeros, we lived and died by the words of our house. None of us enjoyed the fruits of our labor." 

"This time it is different, we are different. Once, we united an entire continent. We brought peace, structure, and security they knew little of as separate entities. Now, the kingdoms rally behind us in favor of the tyrant, Cersei Lannister." Daenerys' voice softened, and she tugged on the material of his cloak. "One more battle, Orys. One more and-"

"I don't want to fight anymore!" Gendry pushed himself away from the queen. He hadn't meant for his voice to rise against her. Not that it startled her, what did she have to fear from him? One word would sentence him to a traitor's pyre. To clear his head, the blacksmith stepped around the queen and moved to the window. He breathed deeply, soaking in the icy breeze of winter to quench the fire in his veins, and with it, his internal storm transformed into a light flurry of snow. 

"I don't want to fight," he repeated with a weariness he didn't have before. Daenerys made her way to him, a comforting hand on his forearm. "It will never be just one more fight, Rhea. No matter the dragons, no matter the allies who stand behind us. Don't you want to grow old, sister? Is there nothing more than that bloody throne that you desire?" 

When he turned towards her to gauge a reaction, Gendry was startled by the glaze in her violet eyes. "A red door and a lemon tree," she trailed in a faraway whisper. He didn't know what any of that meant, but it was important somehow. "If I look back I am lost..." Daenerys spoke low enough that he almost missed her words entirely. Her gaze hardened, returning to the present. "I am the blood of a dragon, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." 

She turned her gaze upward, to his, with an unwavering determination he saw many times in the grey eyes of Arya Stark. He knew that look, and he understood nothing, but an act of the gods could deter such a woman. Even then, the probability did not favor the heavenly entities. 

"I have come too far in this lifetime to quit now. The only way is forward." Daenerys straightened her spine and held her chin higher. When she dropped her hand again, Gendry felt the disconnect between two sibling souls. She was and forever would be a queen, and he a piece on a game board. "You are the last of House Baratheon as I am the last of House Targaryen, to-"

"I'm just a bastard," he interrupted long enough to remember his place. 

"No," she cut through his excuse. "You are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. The lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is what I have made you. Tonight at supper, I will recognize your position in front of everyone. You will reclaim your birthright." He wasn't sure if this was supposed to be an announcement or a command. Nevertheless, it cracked open an old wound that never quite healed from this incarnation. 

"The other lords won't follow me, legitimized or not; I've bastard blood." Orys had bastard blood, too, he recalled. It did not stop them, then. Not after he bound himself to Argella Durrandon. 

"They will with a dragon and an army behind you." His eyes widened at the thought of the size of each dragon. Gendry had not seen then up close, but Orys had. If they were half as ferocious as the others, then no castle stood a chance. Wait, she did not mean...? "Lessons with Viserion begin in the morning. Jon and I will take King's Landing while you rally the Stormlanders." Daenerys' eyes softened. "You may not see battle, but the extra support would ease our mind." 

Gendry opened his mouth, unaware if it were to question or protest this new plan, but a scene below caused him to stop. Someone was screaming, others running, and then a pounding on the chamber doors. He stepped slightly in front of the queen to shield her from harm when the meek interpreter entered. Daenerys slapped his arm and pushed passed him. 

"Your Grace, forgive the intrusion," she spoke, her complexion pale. "It's Jon Snow. They say he is dead." 

"Dead?" Both questioned in union, though the handmaiden did not acknowledge his reaction. 

"In the woods, he was with his sister."

_Arya._

_Fuck etiquette and status._

Gendry brushed passed them all, following the invisible red string that always led him back to her. From behind, the blacksmith heard several footsteps in his wake. No one ordered him to slow down or stop, not even the queen herself. For a split second, Gendry wondered if beloved Rhaenys knew of the soul-bond he shared with Arya Stark or if she simply believed history repeated itself. The vision of his soulmate made the opal burn. He thought back on the witch, her words of encouragement. He thought of his heart's desire and let the magic tug at the string. 

They traveled throughout the castle grounds, racing in the same direction as everyone else seemed to gather. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, which congested the godswood. Perhaps, he briefly thought, he should have allowed Daenerys to lead the way. The people would have parted a path for the Dragon Queen. 

As he drew closer to the center of the woods, he felt her tug back. The dull ache that accompanied the pull drove Gendry forward, halted in his tracks at the front of the crowd by the brunette's sight. When she searched for him among the numerous witnesses, the ache sharpened with a sob. His attention jerked to the queen, who attempted to rush forward. Gendry caught Daenerys' arm, earning a warning from a bodyguard. Yet, his grip remained with a slight shake of his head. The blonde glanced back at the Starks and then at him before resigned to stay put. 

He tucked the queen by his side, using her strength as much as she used him to remain rooted. Beyond them, near the large red tree, Arya cradled the former king in her arms. She rocked, pleading for someone to save her brother. Sansa knelt beside her with an older gentleman he did not recognize. In the distance, Rickon stood behind Bran's wheelchair, silently whispering to one another until they felt his gaze on them. 

And there, camouflaged in the snow, unnoticed, lay a direwolf lifeless as his master. 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - PRESENT**

Freshly brewed coffee and grease smacked the medical examiner in the face when she opened the diner's door. The smells alone did more to nudge her awake than the morning's low temperature. Though, the bright and lively contract of Hot Pie's place compared to the manor created a cozy, repetitive ambiance, a place she could rest before going into work. Last night, she had hoped to collapse in bed and sleep thoroughly, but alas, she did not. Riddled with nightmares she could not remember, the Stark woke before sunrise, unable to pinpoint why something felt wrong. 

So far past exhausted, Arya felt virtually out of body. She barely waved to the owner as she made her way past the counter. As the brunette passed, someone choked on their drink and nearly fell out of their seat, though the doctor couldn't be bothered. There were enough patrons to check on the customer, and she had taught Hot Pie herself on safety measures to take should the need arise. What did trouble her was the lack of a certain sheriff. It was still too early in the morning, she reason. They planned to meet an hour from now.

So far past exhausted, Arya felt virtually out of body. She barely waved to Hot Pie from the kitchen window as she made her way past the counter. A customer had choked and stumbled out of their stool from behind her, though it didn't sound fatal. The short gurgling before the cough indicated some fluids went down the wrong pipe. When she located their usual booth, the brunette didn't realize how much she expected Gendry to be seat already. He was always the first to arrive, a newspaper in hand. The empty booth sucker-punched Arya in the gut and rippled right through the emotional numbness of exhaustion. It was too much to assess after only a day back in Winterfell. 

She removed her coat and bag, placing them at the other end of her seat, then adjusted her red sweater. While she may feel like crap, it didn't mean she had to look the way she felt, especially during the first breakfast with Gendry. A cup of coffee slid into view as she reached for the menu, the aroma alone sent a jolt to her system. The medical examiner inhaled, menu forgotten. Coffee wasn't a common order for the Stark, preferring a strong cup of tea first thing in the morning. However, today was clearly unusual from the start, and the drink in front of her was enticing. 

Arya, intent on thanking the waitress, became alarmed to see a strange man instead. "Steffon Seaworth, ma'am," he stretched out a long slender hand, and the soft eagerness in his green eyes led her to shake his hand. Despite the intrusion, he did not appear to be a threat. In fact, everything about him, a deliberate choice or not, felt casual and small. Still, he was unfamiliar and not from anywhere in the north. "Been waiting a long time to mee you."

Even before he spoke, the accent quite southern, the lingering tan that refused to disappear, and the vibrant shade of brown tipped her off. He kept it short on the sides, but the top was all wave and fluff. Enough of it could be combed back or to the side to keep it out of his face. Good, because his eyes were the best part. The dull shade of green of his eyes reminded Arya of the moss that grew around rocks, the type that could survive the harshest of environments. Which was a good sign given he didn't dress appropriately for the weather here. A simple white t-shirt and a worn jean jacket did him no favors; she hoped he brought a coat with him and had left it in his original seat. 

"Seaworth, huh? We don't get a lot of those this far north." He didn't let go of her hand until he slid into Gendry's spot. "What are you doing in Winterfell?" 

"Family," his grin pulled from one ear to the other, a Cheshire's grin. His eyes twinkled with mirth as if he shared an inside secret. One, she obviously did not get. Riddles, this one. He was no threat, but the hairs on the back of her neck said to be careful. "And to annoy the hell out of the sheriff any chance I get. Sworn duty to give him as many grey hairs as possible." 

"Oh, yeah?" Arya reached the back end of the table for the creamer. Since coffee wasn't her usual, it would take a bit to get the desired taste. Too bitter or too sweet made her stomach sour. "Makes sense. Baratheon and Seaworth have a long history together. How did you two meet?"

"A guitar pick," Steffon mused as he studied her cup. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" 

"That obvious?" An unprompted yawn chose to inconveniently and rudely escape at that moment. Maybe she shouldn't be in charge of any decision-making right now. "Excuse me," she apologized.

"Here, you'll spoil breakfast that way." He brought the cup toward him, then worked the creamer and the fresh coffee pot the passing waitress sat on their table. "Gendry would have my hide if that happened. Probably didn't sleep a wink thinking about breakfast."

"You seem close. Should I be worried?" 

Steffon snorted, and for a brief second, Arya swore the mannerism could have come from her childhood friend. He pushed the corrected coffee to the middle, giving her a choice to take it or leave it. The doctor hummed in appreciation, liking the fact that it wasn't an overpowering taste. Pleased by his efforts, he joined her with a cup of his own. 

"A guitar pick is a pretty specific item to bond over. Care to share the backstory, or is that privileged knowledge?" The awestruck look on his face when she peeked over the rim of her cup made her pause. Perhaps, she read his expression wrong. Nothing about her could be that astounding. What if there was a smudge or hair out of place that got his attention? Arya touched her face, then hair, a prickle of anxiety crawling its way to her heated cheeks. "What? What is it?"

"I spent-I had this whole meeting planned out—a complete list of questions I wanted to ask. Now that I'm here, it's just..." Steffon let out a rush of air, embarrassed. "It's not what I planned." His previous grin turned into more of an awkward grimace. He took a drink, collecting himself. "I'm not used to being the one interviewed is all."

"Life rarely goes as planned," she wanted to reassure him. The urge to place her hand on his was quickly squashed. That was weird for the first five minutes of meeting someone. Arya was friendly, but she wasn't that friendly. 

"Sound advice, coming from experience?" 

She moved a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. Their conversation kept steering away. "What kind of questions did you have in mind?" 

Steffon stared, then unbuttoned the pocket of his jean jacket. He tossed a thick folded piece across the table. Curious of Gendry's friend, Arya unfolded the tattered paper gently, careful not to tear it. She got the sense that he had other lists like this one, just as old and overused. Sansa would adore him. Arya studied his penmanship, scratchy and tilted, a lefty like her. Why did the thought invoke a sense of pride? 

"Quite the list. Not the typical questions for a reporter. I doubt anyone wants another article on the Starks, least of all me."

"Investigative reporter, good instincts." His grin returned. "I wouldn't say that—an up and coming doctor in Bravos who turned down a promising career to come home. Instead of saving lives, healing people, you join forces with the law to solve murders."

The Starks had their fair share of experiences with the media. They were trained on how to appropriately conduct an interview and never give away too many family secrets. Still, it always unsettled her how strangers regurgitated information. Unless one of her siblings or their PR representative set this up, how did he acquire it? She thought of his connection with Gendry but knew he would never betray her trust like that. 

"To set the record straight, I came home, and then the murder happened. Does the sheriff know you want an inside story?" 

Steffon froze. Did he debate on what to say next? If she wasn't already suspicious, Arya might pity the poor guy. He had a similar expression on his face the way Rickon often did when he tried to find a loophole in one of Robb or Sansa's rules. The reporter lifted a shoulder in a devilishly innocent shrug, one she might even find adorable. "Gendry doesn't _have_ to know."

_"Gendry doesn't have to know what?"_

A large hand clamped down on Steffon's shoulder, causing him to jump. The sheriff in question stood behind the other man, using his size and lack of personal space to intimidate his friend. Arya bit down on her bottom lip to hide her amusement when Steffon's eyes widened into saucers. Poor timing or rotten luck. Gendry bent forward until his head paralleled with Steffon's, merely cheek-to-cheek. 

"Not only did you disobey a direct order, but you're also in my seat."

"I should have seen this coming," the green-eyed man addressed her with a sigh and less fear than he initially showed. He winked at Arya before planting a sloppy kiss on the sheriff's recently shaved cheek. Gendry scoffed and wiped at the excessive wet spot. "Guess I'm stubborn as my Pops."

"No, this is opportunistic persistence, and you get that one from your mother." 

"Tomato, _tomato_ ," When Steffon lifted his cup to take a drink, Gendry snatched his ear and twisted it. Some of the warm liquid splashed, forcing the reporter to hiss and squirm out of his seat. He was pulled out of the booth long enough for Gendry to slip in. "You could have just asked me to get up, you know," he rubbed at his sore ear. 

"Would you have listened? Your hearing doesn't seem to be working lately. I wasn't sure." Her best friend offered a welcoming smile, choosing to ignore the other man in favor of her. The entire exchange was quite captivating. She smiled back at him, momentarily enchanted by the happy wrinkles in the corner of his eyes when he greeted her. "Morning, m'lady."

A commotion from another table interrupted her from responding. They watched as Steffon stole a chair from another table, argued about his manners with an elderly couple, and then loudly hauled the chair over. The back two legs scratched against the checkered floor like nails on an old chalkboard. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to witness the scene. Steffon was none-the-wiser. 

"M'lady? Really?" His nose scrunched up in distaste. He flipped the chair backward and plopped down. "When's that from?" 

Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Early medieval, 300 and something aft-"

"That old?" Steffon interrupted and looked over at Arya as if to question why she allowed it. "And you still use it? You let him use it?"

"It's a term of endearment," Gendry ground his teeth. She slid her coffee over to him, hoping to save the other man's life. "It's unique for us." He thanked Arya and took a sip, abruptly stopped to look down at the cup. Likely, he expected tea. 

"Huh, yeah, okay. Whatever you say." The reporter grinned towards her when the sheriff was otherwise preoccupied with finishing the coffee. 

The waitress arrived, apologized for the delay, and wanted to take orders if everyone was ready. Gendry snatched the menu away from Steffon and pointed a thumb at him when he responded to the older lady. "He's not staying." 

An awkward silence hung in the air between the three of them after the waitress took off. Sheriff Baratheon sharply turned his attention to the other man, demanding eye contact. "Don't you have that thing to do? With that person? In that place?"

Steffon's brows rose right before his face fell, an understanding between both men. The reporter sighed, and with a deadpanned voice, he spoke. "Right," miffed, he side-eyed Arya. "I have a thing. With a person. In a place. Can't be late."

"Precaution and protection," the doctor responded in the hopes of lightening the mood. There was no harm done, and she didn't want to be the reason they argued later. Though, the look on their faces said they were bound to butt heads. 

Gendry's skin discovered a lovely shade of red from the ears down. Meanwhile, Steffon's face shifted with merriment. "Ha!" He stood and flipped the chair around. "Don't worry, the old man already gave me the sex talk," he said and repaid the sheriff with a loud smack on the shoulder. "Good times, good times."

" _Steffon_ ," he warned. 

"Alright, already, you grumpy bastard." The reporter pretended to tip his hat. Arya chuckled and waved goodbye. She watched as he collected his belongings at the counter. Good, he did have a coat and gloves. He waved back at them from the other side of the glass window, much to Gendry's annoyance. 

"Well," she started and rested her chin on her knuckles, "he's uh he's a character." 

The sheriff rolled his eyes, "that's the tamest thing that can be said about him." Gendry looked like he wanted to say more, quite a few things more that might not be appropriate for the public. And then, the tension from his jaw faded. What had he thought about that made him do that? "Steffon is a good kid, though."

"Kid? By the gods, you _do_ sound like an old man!" Arya laughed and wondered if any grey hair could be found. "He can't be any younger than us."

"Older, in fact," her eyes widened and tried to add that to her mental profile. His demeanor changed once more as his blue eyes landed on her. The harsh edges of his temper softened, and he became almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ar. I told him to let you get settled before I introduced you two."

"We were in the same place at the same time, I wouldn't blame him."

"He bought you coffee?" 

"Yeah."

"And you drank it?" 

"A few sips. It wasn't awful." 

He searched her face, then. Really looked at her, and she'd pay anything to see herself through his eyes, hear what he thought. The unexpected new acquaintance made her forget what they were doing at the diner this early. Arya touched her hair and face again, insecure about how she may appear. The coffee must not have been the only thing to tip Gendry off about how she slept. 

"When does Jeyne's family arrive?" She wanted to move on. It bothered the doctor when too much focus was on her. They were here for a reason and she wanted to get back to it. "Here, Forensics e-mailed me late last night. I printed the results of some of the tests." Arya reluctantly transferred eye contact to the bag beside her and handed him the files. 

The sheriff leafed through them, respecting her enough to ease up. For now. "Her dad is coming in this afternoon. The others might wait until the funeral." He scratched his chin as he read. "Then again, the Boltons might interfere."

"They wouldn't, would they?" 

"Ramsay," was all he said as if that was the only answer he needed to give. It was. Once he was done, he laid the file on the seat next to him. Gendry reached out and offered his hand, one she took without hesitation. Her smaller hand disappeared into his larger hand, and it felt like coming home. "Are you okay?" 

"First night back. The house is too quiet. It'll be an adjustment, but you know me." She wanted to beg him not to worry, did so by trying to smile. It wasn't anything serious and she did appreciate his desire to take care of her. Gendry's method felt less suffocating than that of her siblings. 

"I do," he said without the ego. His thumb traced over each knuckle, soothingly. "You're welcome at my place. I mean-" the confidence slipped like he'd taken a step too far over the line. "For a night...or two...or however-you know until you get used to being back."

Arya smirked, wanting to poke fun at him. It was the quickest way to get back on track. "Inviting me to a sleepover, sheriff?"

Gendry didn't say anything as his gaze fell to her lips. She bit down on her lower lip and his pupils dilated. Had he picked up the jump in her pulse? His eyes slowly moved back up to her eyes, looking for something in her expression. "Do you want to have a sleepover?" His words deliberately low and probably more suggestive than either of them wanted.

"Maybe." His wrist twitched at her response. Arya moved the tip of her tongue across her bottom lips to ease the pain from the bite. The sheriff's eyes followed the movement and he swallowed hard. "When's the next poker night? Might indulge a little and crash on the couch after I steal everyone's money." 

The waitress arrived in time with their food and drinks, breaking the spell. "Here in a couple of weeks." He stabbed at his egg, concentrating too hard on the plate below. "Waiting to hear if Jon and Ygritte will be back by then." 

"Should be, surely. Winter _is_ coming." 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - 306AC**

He found her in the maester's tower a day later, in a chair beside the table where Jon Snow laid. Arya's pale complexion void, her gaze glassy and unblinking, staring off into a place beyond this world. Had they made a mistake allowing her to examine the body? Bran would have given them the details of their brother's demise. A handful of maesters from other northern castles arrived after the battle to lend their help with the survivors, among their other duties. Any one of them could have done the job and would have happily obliged if a Stark requested it. 

Winterfell's newest maester accompanied Arya during the procedure; she needed to seek the answers out herself. He inquired where she had gained the knowledge and experience with the dead, unable to question her methods. None responded; however, he sensed the other siblings knew more than they let on. 

Gendry's bravado evaporated as he stepped into the room. Perfectly outlined by the thin sheet draped over her brother's form, he wasn't convinced the body would stay. The part of him still haunted by the battle with the wights made it challenging to push down the paranoia. He kept the edge of the room in case the dead rose again, and found his way to her. It scared him to turn his back on the body, but he did so for Arya. 

"Love," he cupped the side of her face. She was cold to the touch, and her chapped lips showed signs of cracking. No one knew if she had eaten or slept since before the godswood. "Let me take you back to your chambers. We can have a bath read, and a tray sent from the kitchens." 

Arya did not so much as flinch or acknowledge his existence. He enclosed both of her hands into his. "They need to prepare the bo-they need to prepare _Jon_ for the burial." 

The reality of it all crashed into him. He may have lost a friend, one of the few highborns he didn't mind, but she had lost her favorite person. _One person too many_ , he thought. Even Arya had her breaking point, and he feared this had been the last straw. How much could a person lose before.. _.this?_

"There's nothing more you can do." 

Without protest or threats of violence, Gendry lifted the petite figure into his arms. They passed people along the way, all of which averted their gaze out of respect for the lady's privacy. News of Lord Snow's death left the survivors of the castle silent; their hope for the future snuffed out. Sansa met them outside of Arya's chambers at her brother's suggestion. Bran made the requests an hour ago, and everything was ready. Together, the pair undressed the brunette, and gently lowered her into the tub. Sansa took over from there while he washed up using the basin. 

Neither questioned where he planned to stay tonight. Nothing else mattered. 

The redhead washed her sister's fingers with delicate precision. He couldn't remember her hands ever being that clean. Perhaps, at Acorn Hall. Though, they hadn't stayed clean for long. Gendry sat at the end of the bed and removed his boots. Sansa glanced his way, and the warning glare she gave him made the man think of his mother. He gathered his boots from the floor and set them beside the trunk of clothes, out of the way. Sansa returned her attention back to Arya. 

"Is there anything I can do?" 

"Once the statue is ready, Jon's sword is to be placed with it in the crypts. Would you...polish or condition or-"

"I understand. It will be done."

They spent the rest of the time in agreeable silence. It was probably the first time they shared space without the awkward tension that hung above their heads. He was grateful she didn't want to pick a fight. Sansa wasn't a bad person, per se. She had high standards, and a rigid view of the world brought on my expectation and experience. Now that Jon was gone, Bran negotiated terms on behalf of the North, with Sansa as the Vale's representative. Would she have to return afterward? Had the lady anyone to confide in like all the other Stark siblings? 

"Why did Daenerys summon you to her private quarters?" 

Gendry snorted at the snide inquiry. Whatever civility they mustered for the sake of Arya was swiftly thrown out the window. He took quite the pleasure of sticking it to a highborn when he could. "None of your concern."

"It is when it involves my sister's heart." Sansa shifted on the stool by the tub to face him. She paused the ministration to the brunette's hair. "I will not stand by and allow you to disgrace Arya's reputation because you enjoy the attention of another woman." The red wolf's teeth snarled as the accusation spilled forth. 

He leaned forward on his elbows, his resolve unwavering. "I'm sorry they hurt you." The venomous comeback on her tongue, ready to lash out, caught between her teeth. Good, he'd taken her by surprise. Sincerity seemed to be Lady Sansa's weakness and afforded him the chance to speak freely. "I'm sorry you were taken advantage of as a child. I'm sorry you were expected to remain the same after what happened. And I'm sorry you have to guard your heart so tightly that the love and trust of others don't come easy, anymore."

The Tully blue that stared back at him shimmered like the Riverland pools at dawn. Members of the Brotherhood often spoke of the mother's beauty in life. Sansa reminded him of the Lady Stoneheart more, though. She may have kept her appearance, but had she lost her soul during the war? He wanted to believe the unshed tears were a sign that Arya's sister still lived deep down. 

"My business with the queen is not what you think. I will only ever love one woman in my life, and she is there underneath your fingertips."

Dazed, the redhead regarded the young woman in the tub whose strands of hair still intertwined with her fingers. Mindlessly, Sansa picked up a small bowl and filled it with water, then rinsed the scented oil or soap out of her sister's hair. 

When ready, Gendry lifted Arya and had Sansa wrap her in a large towel. They dried and dressed her in common tolerance for the sake of someone they both loved. He cradled his soulmate as he took her to bed. Sansa moved the tray of food to the stand next to him. She waited he adjusted against the headboard with Arya in his arms before handing him the bowl of broth. Bran must have seen the difficulty in Arya eating more than what would sustain her. 

"No one poisoned him."

The couple stared at each other and then down at the brunette, neither positive they heard correctly. Sansa took the broth away from Gendry and sat at the edge of the bed. 

"No one poisoned him. I thought-but... There was scar tissue from previous wounds... from the last time he-I waited. I thought if I waited long enough-but he didn't."

Arya only spoke once more, months later, when she announced her decision to journey south in Jon Snow's place. 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - 306AC**

_"Little sister."_

_Someone was in her room._

Unaware of what caused her to startle in the dead of night, Arya lay motionless after her body's initial jerk. Alert, the doctor's senses searched for threats within the shadows lurking in each corner. Her lungs ached between the icy temperature that filtered through the blankets and the desperate need to breathe. She felt their presence near the window. The curtains swayed ever so lightly as the shadows receded to their corner. A wave of panic flooded her veins, and her heart began to drum loud enough to deafen any crucial sound from the intruder. Every instinct begged her to take action; yet, she remained frozen.

Impulsively, she squeezed her eyes shut―as if, somehow, forced ignorance would conceal her. Arya thought herself safe, momentarily, when they didn't attack. And then, something from the darkness did reach out with a tentative touch. A wisp of air brushed loose strands of hair out of the way, and she gripped the sheets tighter. Woozy as the world spun from behind closed eyelids, Arya lay paralyzed as the phantom chill nipped at her exposed flesh.

Beyond the gates of the manor, a wolf's long anguished howl echoed. 

With no warning, the presence slipped away entirely, and with it, her inability to move. She scrambled out of bed, determined to crawl up the far side of the wall. Her lungs burned, exhausted by the sudden rush to take large gulps of fresh air. With each intake, the sticky veil of fog faded from her mind, and she saw the shadows for what they were. Grey eyes focused on the outlines and identified the objects in the room: an unpacked suitcase by the door, a pile of clothes on the vanity chair, and a strange plant Sansa insisted putting near the nightstand. None of which emitted the same nefarious presence from earlier. 

Rationality stepped in and dissected tonight's anomaly; everything had a logical explanation. The fireplace had been reduced to mere embers, the natural cause of the room's cold temperature. Stress and jet lag may have triggered sleep paralysis. A similar experience happened after the death of their parents. Being back home stirred a lot of buried emotions, they were bound to express themselves in some form within her first week. 

Arya tended to the fireplace, set on warming herself before drifting off again. Two coffee mornings in a row would create a bad habit of co-dependency on the drink. The heat from the flames as she stoked them made her eyes droop. She half-thought to remain on the floor when a breeze tickled the back of her neck. Arya turned and noticed the curtains sway. Had she or Sansa cracked the window before bed? 

The brunette moved the thick material out of the way to get to the window, hands ready to push down a voice beckoned her from below. She leaned out to see the silhouette of a man in the driveway. Though, the curls outlined by the moonlight revealed his identity to her immediately. "Jon?"

_"Little sister,"_ his voice nothing more than a whisper. Shrouded by darkness, Jon's distorted form motioned for her to come down. Beside him, a large dog, who sat patiently at his master's feet. 

"Did you forget your key?" She called down to him. "Where's Ygritte?" He must be out of his damn mind standing out in the cold like that. 

_"Little sister,"_ he motioned for her again.

Irritated by the late hour of his stunt, she sighed heavily. "Stay there, I'll be down in a moment." He'll catch his death out there, Arya muttered to herself. 

It wasn't until she was downstairs with a hand on the front doorknob that apprehension began to course through her. " _The night is dark and full of terrors_ ," the words tumbled between her lips. Though, she could not say where she heard it or why she said it. Something felt off...felt _wrong_. Just as she was about to release the knob, Jon's rasped voice called from the other side of the door. 

Right. Jon. Her brother. He needed her to open the door, he needed to show her something.

The instinct to protect him from whatever else was outside overpowered any self-preservation. She yanked the door open, only to find that he was never really there at all. Arya stepped out and looked around, locating Jon at the entrance of the godswood. The white dog—no, not a dog, a _wolf_ —at his side, both of them waiting.

They entered the forest without her, nor would they stop no matter how many times she begged them not to leave her behind. They ventured further into the void until they stumbled upon the opening where the largest weirwood tree stood. Arya stopped abruptly once she caught up to them, disturbed by the scene Jon led her to. Lions. Bears. Snakes. Fish. Countless of plants and other items, all of which gave her names long forgotten. Dead and broken, they lay motionless, covered in the blood-soaked snow in a formation that looked all-too-familiar. She knew this symbol. Its long arms stretched out, consuming all that came within its grasp. 

They shouldn't be here. This was wrong. 

"Jon," she called from her spot and held out a hand despite the distance between them. He had his back to her, unaware of the dangers that surrounded them. Her grey eyes glanced beyond the trees, into the darkness. And in that darkness, eyes stared back at her: blue eyes. Eyes meant to be shut forever. 

"Jon, please. Please, come with me. We can't stay here."

Arya placed a hand on her hip, frightened when it met with nothing. She was missing something, something important. The blue eyes stared, unblinking at them. What were they waiting for? 

Jon grunted, hunching over in pain. The beast beside him howled, cut off only by a gurgling sound before collapsing at his feet. Despite the threat around them, Arya rushed to her brother to inspect him of any injuries. 

_"It wasn't enough,"_ he groaned. Ever so slowly, the pain too much for him, Jon turned to face her.

"We need to get you out of here. I'll get some help. Stay with me, okay? You have to stay with me."

_"It wasn't enough."_ Underneath the black furs, he uncovered something for her to take. Arya held out her hands to receive when the warm, spongey, item twitched atop her palms. _"It wasn't enough,"_ Jon repeated and dropped to his knees, his face twisted in anguish. 

"Jon?" She cried and followed him to the ground. Arya held the weight as best she could until she adjusted him within her arms, cradling his body against her. "Jon!" 


	4. Death Before Dishonor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1856, Gerald Bulwer, Lord of Blackcrown, must make amends for his cousin's actions to save the family's reputation.  
> In the present, a new stranger in town threatens to cause more of a disturbance between Arya and Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I blinked and suddenly it was the end of November. Things in my personal life prioritized my attention and I struggled with motivation and productivity. The Victorian Era was a request by several people; however, for those who are returning, this storyline diverges from the original version. Hopefully, it's just as good. 
> 
> A quick reminder that certain sensitive topics will arise in the next couple of chapters as we explore what happened to Jeyne Poole _and_ in the past life. Mentions of abuse and assault are mentioned throughout the chapter _but never written out_. Please be aware and proceed with caution should this be triggering. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos. They are what helps motivate me to keep going. I love reading what you thought or any theories you might have. So, thank you for taking the time. 
> 
> As to not confuse anyone when reading past lives, I'll put a quick key at the top here:  
> Gendry = Gerald Bulwer  
> Arya = Alys Redwyne

**WINTERFELL - PRESENT**

The house was cold and dark when Gendry returned to it that evening. He dragged his feet and dropped his keys in the bowl beside the door. Other than the low hum of the electronics within his house and the central heating system, it was dead silent. Despite living here for years, his place never felt lived-in; it didn't feel like a _home_ yet. There was a missing piece, and it was like the house knew what it needed to come alive. Gendry stood in the dark and let his eyes adjust. As good as it was to have Arya back again, it hit how lonely he'd been all these years. 

_She was right there. And he had to let her go._

The phantom warmth of her arms wrapped around him, and the softness of her kiss clung to his memory. He breathed deeply, determined to catch the hint of her scent leftover from their hug. His heart ached when the heat kicked on, and the hot air blew away any trace of his soulmate. Gendry hung his coat on the other side of the front entrance and flipped on the lights. He raked a hand through his hair and dressed down for the night. The usual nightcap awaited him. Without his mate on her side of the bed, he found it difficult to sleep right away. He wandered his house most nights, like a ghost himself, until exhaustion overtook him. 

Tonight, Gendry brought his whiskey to what used to be a parlor room. His current residence in Winterfell was an older house just outside city limits. What people saw as a waste of money, the sheriff saw potential. The money he gained from his family's fortune was used to restore the Victorian-style house. It hadn't been easy, but the time with a hammer in his hand kept him from dwelling too much. He filled the house with comfort and past memories, eagerly waiting for when she would come home. Arya, no doubt, would put her mark on the place as she did with everything, breathing life into it. 

Until then, he used the parlor for poker nights with the guys once a month since the hardwood floors were easier to clean after one too many. One of his idiot friends always managed to get food or spill their drink on the floor. Gendry learned that lesson the hard way in his old apartment, where everything was carpeted. Never again. In the far left corner between the windows and fireplace sat a vintage piano in which he plopped down in front of rather carelessly. It wasn't necessarily intricate or over-the-top, given it was another piece of their past he restored throughout the years; however, it'd been _hers_. 

He drank half the contents in his glass in one gulp, then began to play a melancholic tune until the music transitioned into something lighter. A song she loved to dance to when they were together. His fingers roamed over the keys with more force than required, imagining the endless hours she'd sit in this spot and play. The opal that sat next to his drink heated as he continued, allowing the memories to transform his cold, dark house into a home with her. The sweet smell of flowers after a spring rain. The hustle and bustle of the servants completing daily tasks. His wife's laughter and the scuffle of both their feet running throughout the house on the next adventure. 

* * *

**BLACKCROWN - SPRING OF 1856**

The accusation arrived by messenger six weeks before the wedding. Gerald initially dismissed the letter; however, the earnest boy paid to deliver the envelope convinced the lord otherwise. Judge Redwyne, the father of his cousin's intended, demanded an audience on behalf of both families' reputation. He thought the man quite theatric until he read of the crimes against the Bulwer name. Gossip amid a scandal weeks before the ceremony would surely ruin them. 

"Tell me you did not risk our family's reputation," the lord tossed a bucket of cold water upon the younger Bulwer. The drunken fool had stumbled into the stables last night after his escapades. 

When Addam rose frantically from the sudden icy temperature, the marks on his face and arms did not bode well. It meant that the allegations against the young man were, at least, partially true. Gerald coiled, disgusted by the person in front of him. At a young age, Addam had become the late Lord Bulwer's ward when orphaned. As a boy, he was high of spirits with a knack for trouble. They spoiled him, Gerald supposed, to an extent. He had followed his father's technique to curve particular _appetites_ with a firm hand; however, that had merely made his temperament worse. 

A marriage contract between Bulwer and Redwyne was challenging to obtain despite his family's social status. Word of Gerald's rather verbal disinterest in matrimony and Addam's recreational habits did them no favors. The Redwyne family was the ideal option for an alliance. Distantly related to House Redwyne seated in The Arbor, the judge's family branched off a decade ago and relocated in Blackcrown. Since then, they had made a name for themselves in the area. The judge was hard yet equally fair. Until recently, Gerald believed the match would suffice; keep Addam in check. 

How could he have been so wrong?

"What is the meaning of this, _my lord_ ," his cousin sneered. He plucked straws of hay from his hair and trousers. "Have I misbehaved?" Addam chuckled sluggishly, then winced when he grazed the thin cuts on his brow. 

"Atrociously," Gerald took hold of an exposed limb and held out the injured arm. "You are being accused by Judge Redwyne himself for soiling his beloved daughter. Gods, Addam, you have done it this time! Do you have anything to say for yourself?" 

The younger Bulwer chuckled, then groaned into his free palm. "The..." he stumbled on his words, unable to adequately express a complete statement. "Viola's... the state of her _forbidden fruit_ ," he chuckled again, "has long since been plucked by lesser men than I."

"Hold your tongue, boy," the lord bit out, "that is your betrothed. At least, you best hope the judge continues to honor the contract." He ordered a stable hand to ready his horse. "Make yourself presentable for a formal apology and await my summons. I go to make amends and negotiate on your behalf."

* * *

**WINTERFELL - PRESENT**

All evidence pointed to Ramsay Bolton being the murderer, except for the sperm sample results found in Jeyne. 

Arya stared down at the paperwork in her hands as she sat across from the sheriff at Hot Pie's. A week and a half had passed since the victim's murder, and they had to release Bolton on probation. He was considered the top suspect, but DNA results don't lie. Gendry had someone checking the system for matches, all the while a criminal walked free. Tears prickled in the corner of her eyes with a hand to stifle any sounds of distress. She couldn't believe it. "How do people like this get away with what they've done? There had to be another person with him that night, right?" 

Her best friend went to touch her hand, and she instinctively moved away. Hurt shadowed his features at the rejection. Instead of apologizing, Arya stared out the window of their booth and handed him back the results. Part of her felt like she'd failed Jeyne and the rest of the Poole family. They all depended on her to find the evidence needed to lock up Bolton for good. Instead, she gave Ramsay the keys to his freedom. It wasn't fair, Jeyne, nor anyone else, victimized by that monster. 

She wiped the met mess from her eyes and cheeks, then noticed something white in her peripheral vision. Gendry held a napkin out for her. The gesture itself shouldn't have meant anything, but her throat closed up. Arya took the napkin and removed traces of her tears and snot. 

"I don't have the answers, love. I wish I did, believe me." Even after the rejection, after the hurt, he still tried to comfort her from afar. He hadn't taken anything personally. He rarely did. Clear-cut boundaries were respected at all times with him. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

She snorted, which wasn't ideal given some snot shot out into the napkin covering the bottom half of her face. Gods, she must look like all seven hells. Arya hadn't gotten a decent's night sleep since she moved back to Winterfell. If she wasn't dreaming of the dark being full of terrors, she had to most vivid scenes play out. They were both physically and mentally draining, sparing no expense at her energy. Gendry, despite how handsome he was, appeared to be just as depleted. He must not have slept well either this week. Arya cleared her throat, caught in the act of staring at him. "Excuse me," she glanced away, "I need to go wash my face." 

The medical examiner slid out of the booth and made her way to the restroom. One look in the mirror had her groan. She was right—one hot hell of a mess. Arya tossed the napkin in the bin and ran some cold water. For half a second, she thought to duck her whole face underneath the faucet. A shower sounded heavenly after today's line-up on top of the murder case. Not to mention, she needed to prep the body for transportation. They documented all they could of Jeyne's body; it was time to let her parents mourn the loss. 

Arya felt less puffy than before as she dabbed her face with a dry paper towel. Her pale complexion begged to be taken care of before she left the restroom. The brunette grabbed the clip out of her hair, letting the long strands fall where they wanted. She then styled it as best she could to draw less attention away from her face. Once satisfied with her lack-luster appearance, Arya exited only to slam right into someone. 

At first, she believed it to be the ever-curious-ever-present journalist friend. Against Gendry's protests, Steffon had made himself right at home in their company. She prepared herself for some joke or corny greeting but halted any further remarks when she looked up at the violet eyes of a stranger. "Whoa, there. You okay?" 

The guy from the hospital basement held her firmly by the hips to steady their balance. He gazed down at her with collected confidence that made her insides squirm. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that..and for last time."

"We seem to be in the habit of running into each other," he laughed. "Must be fate."

She took a second took long to extract herself from his embrace. Now that she wasn't running away, Arya studied the man with the piercing violet eyes. By all means, good-looking, lithe, a healthy complexion, and the type of black hair that almost appeared blue in tone under this lighting.

"You sure you're okay?" The stranger glanced over his shoulder, almost mockingly. "Seeing ghosts?"

The medical examiner blinked. Crap, she'd been staring again. She nodded slowly, then shook her head to clear whatever fog was clouding her judgment. "Uh, uh-huh. I'm going to go. Now. Over there." Nothing could make this more awkward. She turned to leave only to realize Gendry watched the scene unfold from their booth. An array of emotions coming and going across his face. Eventually, he looked away, then down at his coffee. Arya bit down on her bottom lip and moved back to their table. 

"Do you know him?" He didn't meet her gaze. 

She couldn't tell if he was irritated or his ego deflated. Soon as she was ready to put him out of his misery, the violet-eyed-wonder stopped at their table. Arya rolled her lips inward as she snuck a peek at the sheriff's reaction. 

"Hope I'm not interrupting. I just-"

"You kind of are," Gendry finished for him.

The brunette's heart stopped. What was that all about? She kicked her best friend under the table. He hissed in response, turning his glare to her. Heat rose to her cheeks. Was she the one that should be irritated now or embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior? The mystery guy stared back and forth, then turned his full attention to her. He held out a hand. 

"Figured I'd introduce myself since we keep bumping into each other." 

Gendry's face went slack before something else masked whatever the hell was going through his mind. "So you do know him?" The tone more accusation than anything. 

She went for another kick, confused and more irate than anything over the fact her best friend turned his sour attitude on her. Gendry moved both legs in time, and she stubbed her toe on the concrete block beneath the booth. It was her turn to hiss, and for a moment, she swore she thought Gendry would stick his tongue out at her. Violet-Eyes cleared his throat to gain their attention after an unprompted staring contest began between the two. When they remembered the other man, they looked away simultaneously. "We met last week at the hospital," she explained. Though, should she have with Gendry's current attitude?

"Ran smack into me, then took off." 

"Delightful," the sheriff clenched his teeth. "What were you doing at the hospital?"

"Baratheon," Arya scolded. 

"Looking for you, actually," Violet-Eyes said, ignoring Gendry as he smiled down at the medical examiner. 

Oh. Welp. 

"Oh, um," she tilted her head up to respond with a polite smile—the heat of the sheriff's gaze burning the side of her skull. "My office hours are posted if you wanted to talk about a body. I'm on my lunch break but will be back in half an hour." 

"Didn't you used to be blond?" Gendry interjected. Arya could have died right then and there. What was his problem?

"I wasn't aware you knew who I was. I'm flattered that someone-" the man let his eyes drift slowly down the length of the sheriff's frame. One side of his nose twitched before he caught Gendry's gaze again. "Such as yourself would know about anything across the Narrow Sea."

"I know a Targaryen when I see one." He leaned on his arm. "Dragons don't fare well this far north. Usually, a bad omen when they do. What are you doing here?" 

At this point, Arya had very few clues on the nature of the relationship between the two men. They obviously shared history, but she couldn't fathom how Violet-Eyes got put at the top of Gendry's shit list. 

"I don't think that's any of your business. Now, if you'll ex-"

"Actually, it is." The sheriff tapped the badge on his uniform shirt. "Not sure if you can read with being across the Narrow Sea, but it says _sher-iff. Sheriff._ Meaning, I make it my business when new folks show up in my territory." 

Before the dick-measuring contest could go any further, she slammed both palms flat against the table's surface. Not only did it gather the attention of the men who argued, but most of the people in the diner. Arya paused, then exhaled. "Mr. Targaryen—if that is your name—like I said, I'm on my lunch break. My office hours are posted. I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have later."

Gendry looked too pleased that she dismissed the stranger, his lips reaching close to the tip of his ears when Violet-Eyes left. Said shit-eating-grin disappeared entirely when Arya turned her glare towards him. She pointed right at his stupid face, "you need to take a laxative. What was that all about?" 

The sheriff no longer basked in his victory. He crossed both arms over his chest and scoffed, clearly refusing to respond. She raised an eyebrow, willing to wait until the other conceded. Instead, he gave her another thing to add to the list of crap that didn't add up about Gendry Baratheon. "If it isn't Aegon-fucking-Targaryen," he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and threw several bills down, "it's Ned-fucking-Dayne." 

"Who's Ned Dayne?" 

* * *

**BLACKCROWN - SPRING OF 1856**

Upon his arrival, a servant escorted Gerald to the foyer where he waited to be announced. The interior of Redwyne's manor was a familiar sight, given the nature of his visits during Addam and Viola's courtship the past year. It wasn't as large or spacious as Bulwer Manor; however, it suited the judge's social circle's demands. Dulled by the ordinary setting, Gerald silently rehearsed the conversation he conjured mentally on his ride over for preparation. There was nothing the judge despised more than someone stumbling on their words in his company. 

He was in the middle of his apology when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The foreign sensation in a relatively harmless environment caused the man to angle towards the staircase. Gerald noticed movement between the spokes of the banner. When he turned fully towards the eavesdropper, the person startled enough to move away from sight. They timidly reappeared, and only then did he recognize Viola's face. But not Viola. 

Unlike the lady in question, this one wore her hair in a simple braid hung over her shoulder. Her frock was plain in comparison to what his good-cousin often wore when receiving guests. In fact, Gerald was sure Viola would never be caught in something as frugal. The young lord turned the hat clockwise in both hands as they stared at one another. It took him a moment to fully notice the dark bruise along her jawline and the deep cut of her lower lip. 

What had Addam done? 

The trauma alone must have altered Viola's unique croquette personality into that of a mouse. With that in mind, Gerald did his best to appear small and non-threatening. The bow of his head was nothing more than a nod of his chin, subtle in his actions to prevent a fright. " _Hello_ ," he greeted respectfully. 

Her strikingly observant gaze fell to his mouth, an odd reaction, he thought. Viola stood slowly from her perch behind the banner. As she did, the light coming from the stained-glass window behind her form cast an ethereal glow. Lock of golden transformed into a rustic brown, and the vibrant shade of green became a cold grey. The illusion stalled his breath as his heart begged him closer. Never in the year since he officially met Redwyne's daughter had he felt a sense of attachment. She appeared equally bewildered by the connection. 

The sound of footsteps echoed along the walls of the foyer, and soon enough, the servant returned. "His Honor will see you now, Lord Bulwer." 

Gerald barely acknowledged the intrusion, driven by an unknown force to glance back to the banner only to find it vacant. His shoulders slumped when his eyes could not locate any signs of the mysterious woman. The servant spoke. Had he imagined it all, a consequence of the stress he was under? Gerald acknowledged the servant with a nod to lead him to the host. 

Once the study's door opened, the young lord quickly greeted the judge and his wife with a touch more respect than usual. He had practiced as much; however, it was the presence of a third person in the background that stole his full attention. 

"By the gods," Gerald heard the judge, "you look like you've seen a ghost." 

Near the fireplace, in the finest silk and lace, stood the lady in question. Though, she appeared as she always had. The true Viola Redwyne lowered her fan, her usual spring-colored eyes softened. "My lord, are you well?" 

* * *

**WINTERFELL - PRESENT**

When word spread that Varys launched a coup in King's Landing, years after Queen Daenerys took the throne, Gendry took the news personally. One of the last acts as a lord was to ensure each traitor's execution, every last one who had a hand in her assassination. He thought he left that life behind when he turned from Lady Stoneheart's Brotherhood. With the loss of Rhaenys fresh in his heart, nothing short of the eunuch's agonizing screams quenched the inferno he felt. 

When rumors spread of her resurrection in the east or the one about a surviving nephew, Gendry waited. And waited. And waited. Westeros moved on; the memories of dragons became nothing more than myth once again. 

The world did not catch a glimpse of another Targaryen until the turn of the last century. Even then, it was said on several accounts that none of them survived the war.

Now, he wasn't the type of man that pretended he knew what the gods had planned; however, he was pretty damn sure they didn't go around resurrecting dead houses to fuck with people in another life. Reincarnation was one thing; Gendry knew of that from experience. But what he saw in the diner was no joke or trick of the eye. He would recognize that Targaryen anywhere, hair dye, or not. The other man didn't even bat an eye or refute the surname. 

Somewhere down the line, there had to have been a survivor. If so, it did not bode well for Westeros. Once upon a time, he may have rejoiced to have another opportunity to be with his siblings. 

The summer of 1941 taught him better.

There would never be peace in a world with a united Targaryen force. 

Deep in thought, the sheriff hadn't acknowledged that he stormed out of the diner. Nor did he realize how he marched down the sidewalk in a silent brood. It wasn't until Arya grabbed an arm and swung him around to face her. "I've been calling your name for ten minutes," she said rather breathlessly. "What's going on? What was that back there?" 

"Nothing," he grumbled and turned on his heels to continue towards his truck. She grabbed him again, reminding him that she was stronger than she looked. This time, she placed both hands on either side of his face. The gesture was concurrently familiar and foreign. It took him back to a time where life had not been kind to either of them. Gendry knew his soulmate couldn't possibly know this, but she had never done anything similar until today. Arya had his undivided attention, forced to study the sheer worry in the lines of her face. His eyes wandered down to her lips, curious if they'd taste the same. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight, suddenly very aware of how close they stood. Gendry stole a quick glance up and watched as the brunette stared at his mouth. Her throat bobbed, and he barely had the decency to look away before she did. His shoulders sagged, aligned once more with the present lifetime. No matter how upset, he could never go full bull when she was nearby. Even when she knew how to defend herself, he wouldn't get rough. 

_Unless she called for a little rough play..._

"Talk to me," Arya locked eyes with him and maintained contact. "Talk to me," she repeated and waited in the middle of the busy sidewalk without a care. Because, of course, she did. Arya Stark wasn't one to mind what others thought. What mattered were the people she loved. Strangers passed, some observing and others who had places to be. He focused on the warmth of her palms against the cooling flesh of his cheeks. The path of his thoughts rarely diverged from the previous desire to test out this incarnation's wants and needs. Would she still care little if he kissed her with all of Winterfell as their audience? 

Gendry placed his larger hands on top of hers, hesitant in the fact that she might reject his touch again. When she didn't, he released the excess tension in his shoulders. "Do you trust me?" 

The brunette held her breath, an effort put into not watching the way his mouth moved, and nodded slowly. "You know I do," Arya whispered. 

He searched her gaze and noticed the change in her pupil size. They were likely to have two different conversations at this point, and Gendry would be lying if he didn't feel self-indulgent. Mentally, he tried recalling the alphabet in every language he could remember to ground himself. "I need you to trust me. Trust my instincts, okay? I meant what I said. Dragons don't come this far north without a damn good reason. If a Targaryen has popped back up in Winterfell no less, then he's after something. I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire." 

They held each other in a comfortable silence after that, until Arya saw something in his eyes that convinced her to drop the subject. She nodded again but made no move to step away. Was she waiting for something? Her pulse picked up underneath his curious lingering fingers as they slid down to her wrists. By now, half the population would have enough gossip to hold over Old Nan. Gendry thought to give them something more interesting to talk about over the weekend, but it had to be her decision. He wouldn't force anything further on his soulmate unless she chose it for herself. 

"Boys and I are having poker night tomorrow at my place. How about I make it up to you by letting you steal my hard-earned money?" The Baratheon smirked, dropping his hands from hers and straightening his posture. It took an extra minute for Arya to blink and pull away, too. The corners of his lips stretched at the apparent confusion over what just transpired between the two. "You're so cute when you make that face," then tapped the end of her nose with his finger. "My place. Tomorrow night. Seven."

The sheriff headed towards his cruiser, set on leaving his best friend in that state; however, he should have known better. She wasn't one to be stunned into submission or adoration for long, nor did she allow the playing field to remain unbalanced. Arya followed behind him and, in one swift move, tainted the mood. 

"Hey, aren't Baratheons and Targaryens related?" Gendry halted to a full stop. "I think I remember that in high school history. Distant cousins or bastard half-something-of-the-other?" 

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he gritted and glared over his shoulder. 

"Family reunions must suck," she practically skipped over to him, saddling up beside him with a devilish grin. 

"Shut up."

"Didn't they fight over a Stark?" 

"I'm not listening to you," he began walking again. 

"You going to win me over in battle, Sheriff?"

Gendry turned on his heels, determined to give her a piece of his mind. Instead, he bumped smack into her. Arya rose to her tiptoes, kissed the tip of his nose in the same innocent yet patronizing way he'd tapped her nose. This woman, he thought. She clasped her hands behind her back, obviously proud of herself. 

"You can't stand not having the upper hand, can you?" 

She shrugged. "You're cute when you make that stupid face."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr **jjofalltrades** or on Instagram **jjclarku** for sneak peeks, asks, moodboards, or playlists. 
> 
> ***** I decided to take the minor background couples out of the tags to free up space for those ships in their own tags. So if you need to know, the following background ships for this fic include the following:   
> -Talisa Maegry/Robb Stark   
> -Jon Snow/Ygritte   
> -Theon Greyjob/Jeyne Poole  
> -Brienne Tarth/Jaime Lannister


End file.
